Nightingale
by Cuddledumb
Summary: Adriana Taylor, broken, abused, and alone in life, discovers her talent when she finds she knows all the right ways to make people sing. Sing, like dying little birds. Sometimes, though, she feels as though she needs someone else to share her songs with. Good thing Jeff the Killer has a thing for hot serial killers with a love of sharp objects. (M for violence and language.)
1. A Song of Insanity

**So my friend has succeeded in getting me obsessed with Jeff the Killer. Damn it, Alana. **

_Left foot, right foot, left foot, stumble. Left foot, right foot, left foot, stumble. Left foot..._

I kept chanting this in my head to distract myself from the burning pain that was in my legs and arms. I needed to distract myself from the way it hurt to breathe, the way I just _hurt_. I needed to.

_I'm just stupid. Worthless. I shouldn't be on this planet. No one likes me. Not even my parents, the ones who are supposed to protect and love me, can find a place in their hearts for me. They don't need me. They've wished me dead countless times; they've wished to kill me themselves. I'm pretty sure they would've done it already if murder wasn't illegal._

No, no. Don't think those thoughts. Just keep running away from that place. You will never have to go back if you keep running...

I finally realized my surroundings as I stumbled and flailed backwards, narrowly missing the ten-foot drop that would've sent me into the river at my feet.

_I won't have to go back if I jump in._

I gazed down into the water, it's dark depths inviting me to jump in and never resurface. No one would know I was gone until it was too late. It wasn't like they'd care, anyway. Maybe I should just do the entire world a favor and dive in. And, maybe, I could "forget" to break the surface of the water for air.

Finally making up my mind, I got on my hands and knees to see how deep the water was. I couldn't see the bottom, as clear as the water was, and decided it was deep enough.

Standing back up, I tensed my muscles, ready to jump in. I took one deep breath and let out all the air. I was about to leap in when something tackled me into a nearby tree.

I growled and thrashed my body, head down so I wouldn't accidentally hit my head in my attempts to get away, trying to free myself from whoever had me pinned. Why had they stopped me? I was just about to make the world happy.

"Just what the Hell do you think you're doing?" a voice asked, rather angrily. I looked up and glared at the face, taking in the features. Black hair that was messy in a very attractive way. Pure white skin, leeched of any color whatsoever. Wide blue eyes that I soon realized only to be wide because the eyelids had been burnt off, leaving dark rings. What really caught my attention was the person's smile. Slightly bloody gashes had been carved into his skin, leaving him an eternal grin of pure evil intent.

To me, it was beautiful.

"What the Hell do you think _you're _doing? I was about to do everyone a favor!" I growled back, still thrashing. The man- no, this boy looked to be about my age, seventeen or so- pulled a knife and pressed it to my chest. He pinned both my wrists above my head.

"Go... to... _sleep!_" he shouted, and at that moment I realized that it was not going to be the river to put me into an eternal sleep, but this beautiful teenage boy with the malicious smile forever engraved on his face. I relaxed instantly and felt no fear at what was to come. This was it. I was finally going to be able to leave this horrid place and its torture. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and let it out, just as I'd done before almost jumping into the snaking path of water. I waited a few seconds, but the relief of being impaled onto a bloodied kitchen knife never came.

I opened my eyes and met the boy's, which appeared to be even wider than they originally were. Wide- with shock.

"Hurry up and do it already!" I shouted. He probably would have blinked if he'd had any eyelids to do so.

"Why aren't you screaming! You should be screaming! I'm standing here with a knife to your chest, ready to fucking _murder _you, and you're begging me to plunge it into your heart?"

"I stopped being afraid of dying when I realized there were worse things to live for, asshole," I said quietly. I didn't usually speak any opinions such as that- Hell, I rarely spoke. If I said anything even _remotely _like that at my house, my parents would have probably cut my tongue until it hurt to speak and lock me in the freezer.

The boy was still staring at me, very confused, and I could tell the bloodlust was slowly draining out of him at my lack of screaming. His staring was making me uncomfortable. But still, we sat in the silence, staring at one another, not backing down. Suddenly he pushed himself off of me and walked down a path without another glance. I felt very tired and didn't have the energy, nor the strength, or lack thereof, to jump into the river.

I wanted to go home, even though nightmares awaited me there. I was probably going to be beaten severely; they'll probably use the lighter like they did last time. They'll treat me like I'm not one of their own; they'll treat me like I'm some sort of unknown animal.

So I walked slowly, taking my time as I did not want to encounter my parents so quickly. But I soon arrived at my house, and, taking a second to keep the bile from rising past my throat, I threw open the door. It was no use sneaking in. They knew I was gone, and they wanted me to pay.

"Where the fuck were you?" my father snarled as he slammed me into the wall, gripping my throat in one hand and a lighter in the other. I stayed silent, which angered my father. He flicked the flint wheel on the lighter and a small flame sparked to life. Moving his hand lower to keep from burning himself, he stuck the lighter under my chin. The flames licked at my exposed throat and I shrieked in pain.

Last time he'd burned my hand, but this, oh, but this- this could kill me. So I became desperate for life. Sure, I wanted to die; I wanted to die so bad. But, I will _not _die at the hands of my father.

I writhed and kicked, managing to land one to his softspot, and launched myself into the kitchen. I glanced quickly outside the kitchen window to see one of the cars gone- my mom was out. That just made this all the easier.

My hand skimmed over the handles in the knife holder as I gently gripped each one. Nothing fit my hand; nothing felt right. I glanced at the door to the kitchen as my father groaned angrily. I assumed he was hauling his fat ass up, which gave me about ten seconds before I was worse than dead.

I raced to the only other place I could possibly find something to fight back with: the drawer under the sink.

I yanked it open and something, silver and gleaming, caught my eye. It was my mother's pair of hair-cutting scissors, the ones she used to use for my hair before deeming I was unnatural and a freak. The blades were thin yet strong, and lengthy. I grabbed them and held them like a knife; they fit perfectly in my hands.

My father barged into the room and saw me holding the scissors in my hand, and laughed immediately.

"The fuck do you think you're going to do with those scissors? Ya' gonna run with them and hope I care if you fall on them or not? Ha. You're an even dumber bitch than I thought.

Suddenly, the entire universe went quiet. There was a little click in my head as the thin line of sanity I balanced on snapped. You see, everyone's sanity is just a thin line that they have to balance on, or they'd fall into the darkness of insanity. Sometimes those lines just snapped.

Mine did.

I shrieked loudly, albeit in anger and not in pain, and charged him with lightning speed. He didn't have a chance as I plunged the pair of scissors deep into his left eye socket, through his head, and out the other side. He dropped dead immediately. I grinned as an idea popped into my head, and set to work.

"Did the bitch come back yet?" I heard my mother shout as she pushed her way through the front door. She'd do what she always did: stumble in drunkingly, drop her keys onto the sofa as she passes, and go to the bathroom. Then she'd wander into the bedroom and take off her shoes. This time, though, she wouldn't get to take off her shoes. No. Instead, she'd start screaming her head off.

You see, the idea that popped into my mind was one of revenge. As I watched my father laying on the floor, blood oozing from his unbreathing body, I decided that the master bedroom needed a makeover. The light shade of blue they had was very unpleasant. So I painted it red.

And, as in all horror movies, I painted my self in red and sat in the middle of the room, staring at the door blankly, just waiting. Very cliche, yes, but it does its job. It was very clear as she entered the room.

She screeched and noticed me in the middle of the room. I stood up slowly and launched myself at her, the sharp scissors that I'd held in front of my now deep down the back of her throat. She began to gag, cough up blood, and scream all at the same time. I waved my finger back-and-forth in a "no-no" gesture.

I pulled the scissors out and slammed them into her again and again until she finally could suck no more air in, and then watched her seize violently on the ground as she choked on her own blood. I grinned viciously and decided to leave a message.

So, taking a rag and dipping it in the pool of blood, I stained a message into the walls, one that would stick with me forever. One that would give me my name. A message that read:

_SING, LITTLE BIRD. SING YOUR FINAL SONG._


	2. Five Dead Songbirds Sitting on a Perch

**So I've changed it up a bit now. She's not going to be Shriek. That's why it's being re-written. Obviously. *Rolls eyes at your stupidity.* You all totally should have known because I never gave you any type of warning before this.**

***Complete silence.***

**I WON'T MAKE ANYMORE JOKES I'M SORRY!**

**Also, Cameron, if you read this and don't review I'm kicking your ass when you get back from Missouri (?). *Crowd laughs in unison.***

* * *

_Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left..._

I grinned insanely as I thought of the rhythm of my footsteps. It reminded me of that oh-so-wonderful, red-painted night. That night happened to be the night where I killed both my parents. That night was a week ago, in fact. Of course, I'd run away since then. Far away. Not because I was scared to get caught, but because there had recently been lots of cases of bullying in one certain Louisiana school.

_Dumb fuckers. I'll teach them not to mess with anyone ever again. Of course, it's not like they'll be able to when I'm done with them. _

The grin grew wider and I placed my hand into the pocket of my hoodie, resting my hand on the once-gleaming pair of scissors, which were now covered in red that hid their shine. I guess I'll have to clean it some time or another.

"Ha, freak! Twitch again!" I heard distant voices shout. There was a slight pause, and then, "Oh! Look! The freak did it!" This was followed by laughter. most likely stupid immitations of the "twitching," and more laughter. I sped up, anger flowing through my veins as if it was blood itself. I couldn't stand bullies, and to Hell if I was going to let them keep this up. I'd gone through enough of this shit when I was, by modern standards, "sane."

_"Oh, looky here! She's got another cut on her neck? What happened, did your mom get upset because you're such a slut?" one of the nameless kids asked. I bowed my head._

_"And yet she still won't fuck you!" one of the other kids shouted. Not to defend me, just to have fun, and everyone knew this. Tears escaped me as sobs wracked my body. One more kick was landed to my side and I was left to cry on the ground._

The horrid memory caushed me to walk even faster until I reached the corner of a fence that surrounded the school. I silently snuck a glance around it to see a shaking- well, more like _twitching_- boy on the ground. He was circled by three other boys, all who looked bigger than him. I pulled my scissors out of the black hoodie I'd changed into before leaving my house. I couldn't bloody well just walk around in broad daylight in the old, bloodstained shirt I'd worn then.

A sickening crack filled the air as the tallest of the three, an ugly kid with shaggy blonde hair, kicked the poor kid in the chest, hard. The boy began whimpering and wheezing, gripping his chest which now seemed slightly... disfigured. Had blondie broken one of his fucking _ribs?_

I slipped away from the fence and walked over to the kids, silently. Predator-like. The thin boy on the ground was covering his head, and the boys above him were facing away from me, so no one noticed me until I coughed, purposefully.

"What's going on here?" I asked innocently with my hands inside the pockets of my dark skinny jeans. Blondie walked over to me in that classic "how-are-you-doing-babe?" way.

"We're just messing with the retard over there. Wanna join?" He smiled, showing yellow teeth. God, why does it always seem like the bullies are so fucking ugly?

"I don't know. I think I'd rather hear you... sing for me. Sing, little birdie. Sing, and make your final song your greatest."

I launched myself at all three of them, scissors out, ready to strike. They tried to fight back, they really did, but they quit when they realized they wouldn't win. So they sang and screamed, long and loud, as the scissors dove into their flesh over and over again. I grinned to myself after I finished carving my now signature phrase into their backs, almost forgetting the boy that was my reason for slaughtering the kids. He'd dragged himself away, though "away" wasn't very far. I pocketed the scissors and walked up to him, crouching down.

"No! No! I'll do a-anything, anything. Just d-don't h-hurt me," he begged. I rolled my eyes. Such foolishness. I wasn't planning on killing him anyway.

"When the police and reporters arrive to invesigate and eventually interview you, I need you to tell them one thing. A message from me."

The kid's eyes opened wide and he began to shake and twitch. I smiled.

"I need you to tell them that those songbirds sang, and, oh, did they make it a glorious song."

* * *

One school down. One school that knows to never bully again. One school I'm sure I'll be visiting in the future, but for now, it's fine.

I walked the streets, late at night, as news of the "surprising" event at school found its path on the wind and past my ears. I smirked at hearing the different variations on the story.

"They say the kid did it and then broke his own rib to seem like the victim."

"Apparently the kids were all ground up and then tossed around."

"Did you hear what was carved into their _eyeballs? _It said that _we're _all next!"

I began to laugh uncontrollably, catching stares from some people nearby. I met their gazes with a glare of my own, and they quickly turned away. I faced straight forward once again and kept on my way.

But, after another block, I stopped. I suddenly had the urge to leap into the alley with my scissors out. A very compelling urge.

So I grasped my scissors and held them out in front of me as I swung into the alley. I glanced all around me to look for a shadow that was slightly lighter than the night. One that was inches taller than me and pale white...

The fuck am I doing? Who am I even describing? No one. I'm describing no one because _he _was no one.

And then I heard two deep voices nearing the other side of the alley along with the pleading cries of a woman who knows she's in trouble.

How convinient that they managed to show up when I was starting to feel in the mood to see the twin blades of the scissors slice flesh.

"Shut the fuck up! Here, Joe, hold her down," one of the men said as they entered the alley. I was standing out in the open, right in the center of the brightest spotlight of the moon's gaze. These guys were either just so completely incompetent or too caught up in lust to notice.

"No, no! P-lease! I'll p-pay you. A th-thousand dollars." The woman's attempts were futile to stop these two guys.

Mine wouldn't be.

"Oh, bo-o-oys?" I sing-songed as I stepped forward. They looked up at me, startled, and halted momentarily in their mindless fumbling with the woman's high-waisted denim shorts.

"I'm pretty sure what you're trying to do right there is illegal. No need to get the cops worked up about it, though. Here, I bet I can take care of it for them." I paused for dramatic effect as I easily twirled the scissors in my hand. "Do you guys know how to sing? No? Well, here's your first- and final- lesson. Let's see how high you guys can reach."

I think one of them- Joe, maybe- pissed his pants when I came at them, almost purring, with that insane grin plastered over my face. One of them definitely did when the foul stench reached my nose as I first plunged the dangerous twin blades into one ear of his buddy's and out the other. I did the same to Joe, but this wasn't enough.

Scissors, you see, are good for cutting things. Like paper, for example. These scissors were for cutting hair. Sometimes they could be used to cut thread or yarn, or maybe some ribbon. I used it to cut off the two faces of the attempted-rapists and hammer the ends of the unknown woman's earrings into the skin that had covered their foreheads and the wall.

Now that they were no longer a problem, I faced the curled-up ball of designer clothes and expensive perfume on the floor. She began whimpering as I approached and I covered her mouth before she could sing, stroking her hair.

"Shh, shh, now. It's not your solo just yet, little bird. You don't have to sing. Just don't end up giving me a reason to make you." With that, I hit the back of her head with an old can and sent her into peaceful unconciousness. After all the noise was gone, I noticed the faint sound of a man speaking coming from the street the two men had entered from. I followed it.

"... This just in, a man and a woman by the names of John and Britney Taylor were found brutally stabbed to death in their own home just last night by family friend Alana Freimanis. There were no eye-witnesses, but police believe that John and Britney's seventeen-year-old daughter Adriana Taylor-"

The sound of glass shattering into millions of crystal shards sounded throughout the empty street as I punched through the glass wall separating the television from me, drowning out the rest of what the news reporter had to say. I growled in anger and frustration.

_How dare they call me by that... name! Adriana Lynn Taylor died that night. She's gone. This may be her body, but she doesn't inhabit it anymore._

Suddenly, the wailing and screeching of police sirens broke the silence. I cursed silently. Breaking the glass must have set off a silent alarm.

I slunk off into the shadows just as the police turned the corner and sped down to the small shop. I chuckled darkly, knowing that they wouldn't find anything except an unconcious woman and two unrecognizable faces peering at them from the wall.

After all, I always was hard to find.


End file.
